Outstanding in One's Field Luke 18:9-14, 2 Timothy 4:6-8

“Nancy A. Sears Gibson, 95, went home to be with her Lord
on Thursday, October 11, 2007.”
So begins the obituary of Ms. Nancy Gibson.
I didn’t know Ms. Gibson, but her obituary was in yesterday’s Daily Progress.
I chose her name at random from those listed
and found the brief article about her very interesting.
Ms. Gibson lived her entire life in Buckingham County.
She was born in April, 1912, just three months before my father was born.
She was the second of fourteen children.
Her family was among the founders of the Baptist Union Church in Buckingham
and she herself was a Deaconess in the church.
What I found especially interesting was Ms. Gibson’s love of quilting
and the fact that her quilts have been displayed at several area museums
including the Smithsonian.
Whoever wrote the obituary added this,
“Many of us could not make it through the winter without one of her quilts.”

I chose another obituary at random out of the same paper,
this time it was a notice of the death of Mr. Phillip Buchanan.
Mr. Buchanan was but 76 and he died after a long illness.
He is referred to as a “beloved father and husband.”
Mr. Buchanan was an English and Philosophy professor
at Frederick College in Portsmouth and Tidewater Community College for 35 years.
He graduated from UNC-Chapel Hill,
and did post graduate work at UVA and Oxford University in England.
What I found most interesting was that he was an accomplished trumpet player.
He founded his own dance band when he was in college
and he played with the UNC Alumni Band until illness forced him to quit.

I chose these two obituaries from the on-line edition of the Daily Progress
so that I didn’t even have their photographs to go by, just their names.
The only criterion I used in making my selection was gender –
I chose one man and one woman.
I wanted my selection to be random because I wanted to test an assumption.
I wanted to see if my perception is true that, for the most part,
when someone is remembered in an obituary,
that person is remembered not so much for what he or she has accomplished
but for the relationships he or she leaves behind.

From this tiny sample of two it seems as if my assumption holds true.
Mr. Buchanan and Ms. Gibson certainly accomplished things in their lives –
She was a Deaconess, he was a Professor,
She was an expert quilter, he, an accomplished trumpeter.
But even their accomplishments are remembered
not so much for their technical expertise
but for the way her quilts keep others warm,
the way his trumpet filled out the band.

I’m thinking about obituaries because this Sunday on the church calendar
is All Saint’s Sunday,
the day we remember and give thanks for those who have gone before us;
the day we contemplate their legacy and their meaning in our lives.
That’s why one of the lectionary passages this morning is from 2 Timothy 4
which purports to be the Apostle Paul’s acknowledgement
that his time on earth is drawing to an end
and his transition to life in clearer, closer proximity to God is close at hand.
Whether Paul actually wrote this passage or not is up for debate
but the calm, accepting, almost eager way the passage anticipates
the kind of transition that death brings to a believer
is certainly consistent with passages from other letters we know Paul wrote.

In 1 Corinthians 13 Paul speaks of death as bringing longed-for clarity.
Life on earth is like seeing God in a mirror dimly, Paul writes,
but life after death will be like seeing God face to face.
In his letter to the Philippians Paul nearly gushes with enthusiasm when he says,
“to live is Christ, to die is gain.”
There is no crisis associated with death in Paul’s mind,
only a gentle acceptance and an adventurous attitude
of hardly being able to contain himself until he can see what’s on the other side.

If you’ve had the privilege of being with a person of faith near the time of their death,
especially if that person has had a good, long life,
you’ve probably seen this feeling of calm, this attitude of acceptance.
It’s harder to shake hands with death if it comes suddenly or violently or much too soon.
Still, even those who have too suddenly or too violently or too soon tasted death
and then have been brought back to tell the tale
often describe it as more sweet than sour, more welcoming than harsh.

The sour taste and the harsh slap of death is usually felt not by the one who dies
but by those who are left behind, those who mourn the passing
and feel deeply the vacant void where a vibrant life used to be.
We who are left behind, equipped with only that dim mirror, that fogged window,
those cloudy spectacles through which to understand the mystery of death and life
are able only to see how the most obvious connection to our loved one,
that physical presence, has been broken by death.
What we cannot see with our eyes but must accept on faith
is how a complex web of tinier, but more enduring connections, are still left intact.

These enduring connections are subtle but profound.
The steadfast warmth of a quilt made by Nancy Gibson’s loving hands
or the recording of the UNC Alumni Band featuring Phillip Buchanan’s powerful trumpet.
It’s the memory of a church picnic,
the things learned in a favorite class,
the considered sage advice of someone who’s seen it all.
It’s the example of faithful service to a church,
or five dollars slipped in a grandchild’s birthday card
even when that grandchild turns forty-two.

The enduring witness of the saints who have gone before us
is not so much their accomplishments, grand as they may be,
but the connections they have created and maintained throughout their life.
That’s why Jesus’ parable that we read in Luke is also very appropriate
for an All Saint’s Day observance.
It is appropriate as a NEGATIVE example.
Luke labels Jesus’ story as a parable about “some who trusted in themselves
that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.”
In other words, it’s a parable that tell us how NOT to live,
an example that runs contrary to the spirit of All Saint’s Day.

In the story we have two main characters – the Pharisee and the Tax Collector.
You’re aware of the broad brush Luke uses
when he mentions Pharisees and Tax Collectors.
They are among his favorite stereotypes.
In Luke’s mind, Pharisees are those learned theologians who have no common sense.
They’re pastors with no compassion,
religious leaders with a very distorted understanding of God.
Like the one in this story, they strictly observe or even surpass the letter of the law
while at the same time missing the spirit of it.
Notice the Pharisee is very much caught up with his own accomplishments –
his excessive fasting, his generous giving – both of which have their place.
But notice also where he is standing as he prays
and ticks off the list of all the things he’s done.
He is standing BY HIMSELF.
He is disconnected.

In Luke’s mind, the Tax Collector is the quintessential representative
of the worst among sinners.
By his very VOCATION he has separated himself from those around him.
He works for the Romans but they despise him because they despise all Jews.
But his own people, the Jews despise him,
because he is a tool of Roman oppression.
His lack of connection is also reflected in the parable Jesus told.
Notice where he’s standing – “far off.”

The difference between the Pharisee and the Tax Collector
is that one, the Pharisee, is unaware of his isolation.
His prayer shows a certain arrogance and pride
that he is ABOVE ordinary, run of the mill, sinful Jews.
He considers himself outstanding in his field,
without seeing the irony in that designation –
that he is truly OUT; out STANDING in his field ALL ALONE.
At least the Tax Collector is aware of his condition
and his prayer reflects a deep yearning to do something about it.
He beats his breast – begging God to break open his heart.
He acknowledges his sin which, oddly enough, is the first step
to becoming connected with his fellow human beings – sinners every one.

It’s interesting that at the same time we observe All Saints Day
we also find ourselves at the pinnacle of our season of stewardship emphasis.
But when we think in terms of All Saint’s Day as an observance of CONNECTIONS
it makes for a perfect fit.
The Pharisee, we’re told, gave a tenth of all of his income,
an amount far and beyond what was required of him by Jewish Law.
That’s quite an accomplishment.
But it wasn’t stewardship.
Stewardship isn’t an accomplishment, it’s a connection.
It’s an acknowledgement that God has made you and me not for isolation
but for relationship, for CONNECTION.
God wants from us not just our money but ourselves,
not just our begrudging obedience but our joyful surrender.
The Saints among us show us that neither the posture of the Pharisee arrogantly
standing by himself nor the posture of the Tax Collector standing far off in shame
is the posture God desires.
We are part of the body of Christ; we are CONNECTED
and our living and our giving should reflect that connection –
in honor and in memory of ALL the saints!